


Shine On, Boy, in This Wreckage of Stars

by This_Bloody_Cat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bets & Wagers, Dubious Ethics, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2621093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/This_Bloody_Cat/pseuds/This_Bloody_Cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al never figured out whether James was trying to play matchmaker or just wanted to have a laugh at his expense—but either way, Scorpius wasn't entirely blameless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Iwao, for being such a wonderful beta <3 I blame Harvey Specter's attitude for this. And quite possibly Stuart Broad's hair.

The way Al saw it, Scorpius Malfoy was a disaster in waiting.

Things would never have turned out the way they did if Scorpius didn't have eyes like molten silver, and hair as pale as a Veela's, and almost as luminescent. His hair had always been that unnatural shade of white-blond, what had changed was, he now apparently also had the urge to flaunt it. He wore it trimmed, tousled, perfectly styled. It was breathtaking, and the way the soft strands fell over his face, and licked at his cheekbones in an obscene caress was, quite frankly, nothing short of pornographic.

In fact, everything about Scorpius was downright indecent.

Al knew what he was talking about. Having to share a dormitory with Scorpius and the flimsy, barely-even-there silk of Scorpius' pyjamas, and those soft breathy sounds he sometimes made in his sleep, had given Al an acute case of blue balls that had lasted all through sixth and seventh year—and still made the occasional comeback, when Al's mind dared to venture down those lanes.

Scorpius, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of the effect he had on people. Therefore, if anyone were to blame for the way things turned out in the end, well. In truth, it would be James.

But if anyone _else_ were to be blamed, it would totally have to be Scorpius, because if Scorpius hadn't decided to show up to the Annual Reunion of Hogwarts Ex-Alumni, all charm and shy smiles, and looking like bloody sex on a stick, James would never have noticed him.

Unluckily for Al, Scorpius had shown. And James, being James, immediately took notice.

“Say, your housemate—”

“ _Former_ housemate,” Al corrected. His brother appeared to have an awfully hard time coming to terms with the fact that Al was no longer a schoolboy.

“Right. That's what I meant.” James' eyebrows were raised. His gaze, somewhere between speculative and impressed, followed Scorpius' every movement. Across the room, Scorpius took a careful sip from his drink and went on chatting with Poppy Goyle, utterly unconcerned by the attention. “Does he always look like the lawyers in those American shows mum likes?”

“How do you mean?”

“Smart Muggle designer suit, but worn comfortably enough to look casual”—James held up a finger—“fashionable hair, impossibly white teeth, an air of amused disinterest.” Three more fingers. “Is he always like that? Was he like that at school?”

“I … I don't know.”

Truthfully, Al couldn't remember a single instance of Scorpius _not_ looking like that, but it wasn't as if he'd been watching all that closely. As a matter of fact, he'd been very studiously _not_ _watching._ Looking at Scorpius had a series of unpleasant side-effects, the most embarrassing being that it made Al sound like a bumbling idiot, (which came with its own set of added side-effects when you were in Slytherin—all those snakes just biding their time, sharp dagger in hand.)

No, certain hazards were best avoided, Al thought with a shudder, especially at Hogwarts. Self-preservation and all that rot. Teenagers were unpredictable enough without wands and magic.

“You reckon he'd still look like that after a good shag?” James mused. “Perfectly put together, not a hair out of place?”

Al only found his voice several minutes later, when the images of grey eyes, smooth skin, and pale, slender limbs on dark sheets finally halted the assault on his mind. “You want to _shag_ Scorpius Malfoy?”

James hitched a shoulder.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be the straight one.”

“Any sane human being would make an exception for _that_ ,” James said defensively. Al bravely fought the itch to point out Scorpius was not an inanimate object, and as such, should probably be referred to as 'him'. “Besides, I'm sure he looks androgynous enough from behind.”

“Sweet Salazar, James, that's …” A dear old recurring fantasy of Al's, one he had wanked to often and enthusiastically enough. His brother starring in it was a new addition, however—new, and highly unwelcome. And it sounded so _crass_ when James put it like that! In Al's mind, it had always been tender and dreamlike and … Al briefly considered _Obliviating_ himself. “I'll thank you not to shag any of my housemates.”

“ _Former_ housemates.”

“Yes. That,” Al snapped, irritated beyond belief at having his own words thrown back at him. But that was James. Exceedingly irritating bastard.

“Trust me, he wouldn't be the first of your former housemates to wind up in my bed. He wouldn't even be the first one in your year,” James informed him with an annoyingly condescending smirk. Al's brain quickly drafted up—very much without permission—a list of likely candidates. Ugh, that memory charm was sounding better by the minute; it was that, or _Avada Kedavra_. “But fine—” James sighed exaggeratedly, “—this particular Slytherin I won't touch, since you're so invested in protecting his dubious virtue.”

“He'd never go for you, anyway.” At least, Al hoped he wouldn't. But what if Scorpius had a thing for Gryffindors, or, Merlin forbid, uniforms _._ What if James showed up in his Auror robes, what if … “He's _definitely_ out of your league.” There, that sounded convincing.

“Not so sure about that.” James leant forward, setting his pint down on the bar. “To be honest, I think I'd stand a better chance than you.”

Older brothers, Al thought, were by far the most disgusting thing since grass-flavoured beans. They always thought they were better, somehow—and most importantly, they always, always thought they knew best. “Never mind that you only think so because you're your usual, annoyingly overconfident self.”

James shrugged. “Actually, it's because I didn't go through seven years of school without ever so much as talking to the poor sod. But hey, whatever flies your broom.”

“Oh, fuck off.” So Al got a little tongue-tied around Scorpius. So what? “I can totally get into his pants, all right? I've just never _tried.”_

As it often happened, no sooner had Al opened his mouth to speak those words than everyone else at the gathering decided to fall silent. Al spied several people giving him odd looks, and even Scorpius deigned to spare him a glance, with a bemused—and entirely too adorable, in Al's opinion—tiny crease between his brows.

Thankfully, the moment passed. Conversation resumed all around them, louder than before, and Scorpius quickly looked away.

“Tell you what,” James said. The speculative look returned in full force, only this time directed at Al. “If you manage to shag little Malfoy over there in under two weeks, you can borrow my bike for a month.”

“Really? Sirius Black's bike?”

“The one and only.” James smiled winningly. “So, what's it going to be?”

Al didn't answer right away.

It made for a rather sordid gamble, all in all—but he was a Slytherin, first and foremost; baseness was practically their _raison d'être_ . Plus, Al was always in favour of proving James wrong, and he'd wanted to get his hands on that bike for a very, very long time. _And on Scorpius_ , a treacherous little voice in his head reminded him. “I want the bike _and_ the invisibility cloak, and I get them for two months,” he said eventually, not wanting to appear _too_ eager.

“Very well, then”—James wiped his palm on his jeans before holding it out for Al to shake—“I'd say we have a deal.”

That, they did. And two shots of Firewhisky and several deep breaths later, Al also had a plan. He figured there was no better time than the present to set it into motion.

Granted, it was a fairly simple plan—Al would approach Scorpius, thoroughly dazzle him with his wit, and watch in triumph as Scorpius fell at his feet—but one that had seldom failed Al in the past, even if Lily often claimed that had more to do with Al being a regular in the pages of _Seeker Weekly_ than any merit of the plan itself. Ha! What did she know, anyway?

Standing in front of Scorpius, Al was beginning to suspect Lily might have a point after all. He could already spot a few flaws in his plan, like the fact that he couldn't for the life of him come up with an appropriate way to greet Scorpius.

A nod and a curt 'Malfoy' seemed too aloof for his purposes, and 'Fancy meeting you here' was bordering on idiotic when one took into account where _here_ was, and that the both of them had unfailingly attended these reunions for the past four years. 'Fancy a shag?' while short and to the point, would probably get Al's bits hexed off—Al would really rather keep them; they seemed crucial if there was to be any shagging.

In the end, he settled for a fidgety, “Er, hello.”

Scorpius blinked and quickly glanced over his shoulder, as if he expected Al to be addressing any of the nonexistent people at the empty table behind him.

“So …” Al tried. It was a shame the part of his brain in charge of such mundane tasks as small talk had gone all soft and gooey in light of Scorpius' proximity. Al could have used it right about then. “Lovely weather we're having, don't you think?”

“The rain, Potter? Really?” Scorpius blinked, again, but at least he now seemed reassured that Al was indeed talking to him. That should count as a step in the right direction. “I'd say it's pretty usual at this time of the year.”

“Right. Of course.” Time for a different approach, then. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No, I don't think you can,” Scorpius said slowly, as if talking to a particularly dimwitted child. “Drinks are free, you realise.”

“Can I _fetch_ one for you, then?”

Scorpius' eyes narrowed. “And why exactly would you want to do that?”

“It's a party.” Ordinarily, such a question would have convinced Al that whoever he was talking to was somewhat socially challenged. However, because this was Scorpius—who was, admittedly, a tad odd, but by no means friendless—Al could only assume he was being contrary just for the hell of it. “It's what people do at parties. They drink. And dance. And I'm not going to ask you to dance because, frankly, their taste in music—”

“Not that.” Scorpius waved an impatient hand. “I meant, why _me_ specifically?”

Al picked absently at his sleeve; this really was a bit off-putting. He had a feeling 'Because James dared me to screw you' wouldn't score him any points.

“Actually, Potter, go right ahead. I can see I'm nowhere near intoxicated enough for this … this … whatever it is you're trying to do here.” The look Scorpius gave him clearly stated he believed Al would feel right at home at the Janus Thickey Ward. “Go get that drink. And make sure it's Blishen's, none of that substandard crap they're serving.”

Al dashed to the bar, feeling immensely pleased with himself. Fortunately—no matter what Lily thought—there was still something to be said for his schemes. Not so fortunately, by the time he made his way back, drinks in hand, Scorpius was nowhere to be found, and Al was beginning to realise he'd just been made into a giant prat.

“Well, that couldn't have gone better,” James said cheerfully, giving Al's shoulder a light punch. “Do I get to keep the extra drink?”

Al glared. “You're a lush. You know that, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

 

After his spectacular failure as an amateur pickup artist, Al decided to take on a more subtle approach: find Scorpius' friends, infiltrate them. Alas, Scorpius was friends with the likes of Poppy Goyle and Henri Zabini, and Al really had no intention of going anywhere near them if it could be avoided. So that left him only one option—namely, cousin Rosie.

Now, Al rarely  _listened_ to Rosie when she talked. It wasn't  _personal_ or anything; he liked her well enough, he supposed, and she was family. But she just tended to drone on and on about the most uninteresting topics, such as prisoners' rights or the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy—the mere thought of which threatened to put Al to sleep. However, he vaguely recalled hearing her mention the words 'classmate' and 'Scorpius' in the same sentence more than a few times, so it probably wasn't too big a leap to assume both Rosie and Scorpius had attended Magical Law School together.

“… close is hardly the word I'd use. But we get along fine, for the most part,” Rosie was saying. She held a fork in her left hand and a long quill in her right, and was scribbling tiny notes in the margins of a terrifically tedious-looking file—all while picking absently at her salad. Al wasn't even surprised. Leave it to Rosie to work through her lunch breaks. “He's nice to talk to, smart, just … We've had coffee together once or twice, but he mostly keeps to himself.” She tilted her head. “I'm sorry, why was it you wanted to know again?”

“Well, I could use your help”—Al flashed her his most angelic smile, the one that always caused Grandma Molly to forget why she was cross at him in the first place—“and possibly some intel.”

“On Scorpius, really?” She paused, looking thoughtful. “How peculiar.”

“What?” Peculiar wasn't quite what Al had been aiming for. To be honest, he'd been hoping for a very different reaction, one more along the lines of 'But of course I'll help you, cousin dearest.'

“Oh, I'm sure it's nothing.” Now Al  _really_  wanted to know. He raised an eyebrow, fixing her with the look that made even Gryffindors cower until she relented. “He dropped by my office earlier today,” she said quickly. “He was here talking about you, and now here you are, asking about him. Quite unusual, if you ask me.”

“He was  _here?_  But why?” The offices of Nauplius Arrington & Partners (NAP for short; a most appropriate acronym, in Al's humble opinion) weren't anywhere near the top of Al's list of fun hangouts. In fact, they weren't in the list at all. In fact, as a rule, he wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near them.

“You're missing the point. That's not the shocking bit, the shocking bit—” Rosie's mouth suddenly snapped shut and she looked up at Al with narrowed eyes. “Never mind. You—” she pointed her quill at him, accusingly, “—didn't even know he worked here, did you? Merlin, it's like you live in an entirely different planet, do you ever  _listen_?”

Al smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes?” He wasn't feeling particularly guilty. It had just occurred to him that, if Scorpius was talking about him, then perhaps his efforts hadn't been as fruitless as he'd thought.

“I've told you at least a dozen times,” she said crisply.

“What did he have to say about me, anyway?”

“If I'm not mistaken, the gist of it was that you're childish and insensitive”—Rosie shrugged—“and have somehow managed to annoy him yet again.”

“That I—What?” But how? What had he done?

“Honestly, Al, I'd hoped this petty little feud of yours would be forgotten once you were both out of Hogwarts.”

“But …” What feud? There was no  _feud_. His father and Mr Malfoy had every right to hate each other in their own time, but that was really none of Al's business. “I've never done anything to him!”

Rosie frowned. “You did vanish his DADA essay back in sixth year.”

“That was a miscast.” Al had meant to vanish the ink blot on his hand, but then Scorpius had done that terribly distracting thing he did sometimes, when he was concentrating hard on something, with the tip of his tongue sticking out just a tiny bit from between his lips and …

“And there was also that other time, in the Great Hall,” Rosie went on, “when you emptied a glass of pumpkin juice on his head.”

“An unfortunate accident!” Al snapped. “I didn't do that on purpose, he was just standing in the wrong place.”

“Well, he really must have rotten luck then. He sure seemed to be in the wrong place frighteningly often when you were around,” Rosie said disapprovingly. “What exactly are you up to? I won't have you playing pranks on my colleagues.”

“I want to ask him out on a date.” Al doubted Rosie would appreciate the full version; the short, appropriate for all audiences one would have to do.

“ _Oh_ ,” Rosie said after a moment, and then again, “Oh _,_  I see.”

“Will you help?”

“Sure.” She paused. “Just  _please_  try not to mess this up, will you? Scorpius and I might not be the best of friends, but if this somehow affects our work relationship, Al, I swear to—”

“Merlin—” Al rolled his eyes, “—what's with you? It's just a  _date_.” What harm could it possibly do? In the worst case scenario, Scorpius would ignore him for a fortnight, at the end of which they'd both go their separate ways. Just like that. No hard feelings. “I think I can get through a date without setting off some form of cataclysm, really.”

Rosie gave him a wary smile. “Well, that makes at least one of us,” she said.

  


**

  


“My, my—” Scorpius smiled winsomely over his shoulder, “—if it isn't the Falcons' star Seeker. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

In the absence of better ideas—and because he was still working on a deadline and whatnot—Al had decided to run with Rosie's dreadfully Gryffindorish advice (“First, you need to apologise. Only then can you hope for a fresh start.”).

He had arrived at Scorpius' office with a whole speech ready for the occasion, only to be greeted—or rather, thwarted—by the sight of Scorpius standing on a stool, his back to the door, sorting through the binders on the top shelf. Merlin, did his arse have to look so mouthwateringly perfect in those trousers?

“Did you need something,” Scorpius prompted, raising an eyebrow at Al before turning back around, “or did you just feel like standing there gawping at me for a while?”

Al swallowed. It seemed to be all he was capable of doing as Scorpius reached up once more to pull out a rather generic-looking folder—it made Scorpius' neat white shirt ride up a little, and, (as the barest hint of skin peeked out from beneath the fabric), Al wondered, for a moment, if everyone else in the firm was somehow dead below the waist; there was simply no other way one could ever get anything done around such distractions. He then went on to wondering why Scorpius couldn't just levitate the wretched thing down from the shelf, like the wizard he was. Why wouldn't he, the bloody tease?

“Well?” Scorpius finally jumped down from the chair, turning to face him.

“Er,” Al mumbled, “the thing is …”

“Out with it, Potter. I don't have all day.” He wrinkled his nose in that way Al found so unbearably cute—never mind that Scorpius only ever did that out of irritation. “It might have escaped your notice, but this is my office. The place where I  _work_.”

“I …” Al cursed his mind for being entirely too focussed on writing sonnets to the gentle curve of Scorpius' lower lip. Now was not the time, damn it. He needed to stick to the plan; that was what plans were for. “I'm sorry,” he managed at last.

“Sorry?” Scorpius looked momentarily stunned before he schooled his features into a bland sort of curiosity. “What for?”

“I know I was an arse to you, back in school, and I—”

“What exactly do you want from me?”

Al blinked several times. “Excuse me?”

“You've had years to apologise for that,” Scorpius said. He held the folder closer to his chest, like a makeshift protective barrier meant to keep Al at a distance. “Why do it now?”

As much as Al hated to admit it, it wasn't that unreasonable an assumption. However, coming clean about his motives at this stage could only hurt his overall chances. So Al did what he did best: deflecting. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“I have work tomorrow. Like every other Wednesday.”

“Surely not all evening? Let me buy you dinner. You know, purely in the interest of apologising properly.” Just that, nothing more. There was no need to rush things, after all—not when Al still had over a week to woo Scorpius. Dinner was a good place to start; if the way Scorpius' face seemed to soften was any indication, perhaps  _the_  place to start.

“Did you mean that, what you said?”

“Why would I lie about dinner?” Merlin, did Scorpius even  _know_  how to make sense? He might be the fittest bloke Al had ever set eyes on, but Al was beginning to suspect he was also something of a nutter.

“Not dinner, you git. When you said …” Scorpius looked off to the side, breaking eye contact. “Are you really sorry?”

“Sure.” That wasn't all that hard. And it got Scorpius to finally relax his death grip on the binder he was holding, (or the Shield of Potter Protection, as Al had taken to calling it in his head), which could only be a good sign, right? If Al had realised he was expected to apologise for what had been, after all, nothing but a series of ill-timed mishaps, he might have done so sooner. Possibly.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Al tried not to sound as thrilled as he was feeling—with only limited success, if the way Scorpius' lips were twitching was anything to go by. “Can I count on you for dinner, then?”

Scorpius slowly shook his head. “No.” Did the annoying bugger always have to be this … this _difficult_? “Now shoo,” Scorpius added, “I have briefs to write.”

“Why you little—” Al crossed his arms before he could complete that sentence and shoot his chances to hell, then uncrossed them, then—upon noticing Scorpius' glare—held his hands up and said, “All right, fine. I'll go.” For now. And only because they didn't seem to be getting anywhere anyway.

“Oh, and Potter?” Scorpius said with a tight smile. “In the future, please refrain from showing up at my workplace unless it's for something work-related. Understood?”

“I will if you agree to—”

“Out,” Scorpius barked.

Al managed to duck through the door in time to avoid the Bat-Bogey Hex thrown his way. Granted, it was a narrow escape. But he wasn't a Seeker for nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> You can leave a comment here or [on Livejournal](http://this-bloody-cat.livejournal.com/23310.html?mode=reply) ♥


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